The Merchant Departs
by Wrongful Vanity
Summary: [Merchant] Nothing that mattered before seems to matter now. Portia sees the nature of her husbands heart before he does himself. Jessica has second thoughts about her rash decision. Bassanio discovers his own cruelty. And Antonio knows what he must do.
1. The Mistaken Farewell

I chose not to write in iambic pentameter or script format because I'm not Shakespeare. A bit might have snuck in there but I those bits are written in such a way that you will probably not even notice unless you are particularly observant. This takes place hours after the end of the play, after everyone has gone to sleep. the story is informed by the perfomances of the actors in the film version. Particularly Jeremy Irons' portrayal of Antonio, and Lynn Collins' Portia. But you don't have to have seen the film to read the story. I don't expect many people to read this as Mechant has an incredibly small fandom. But if you do, please let me know that you're out there. If you liked it, let me know why. If you disliked it, let me know why so that I might improve the coming bits; constructive criticism is always welcome.

Bassanio didn't wake up until the sun was already halfway across the sky. Nevertheless, he knew that after last night's excitement, he would be the only one awake for some time. He crept out of bed so as not to awaken his angel of a wife and pulled on his dressing gown, never taking his eyes off Portia's sleeping figure. As he looked at her, he felt this fluttering in his chest and groin that he took for love. She had seemed so sad last night (or rather this morning), as they finally consummated their marriage. There was something resigned in her manner. But he couldn't understand why.

He fiddled with the ring on his finger and felt a twinge of guilt; that must be it. The ring had been a test, and he had failed miserably. Her words signaled forgiveness, but her demeanor had said otherwise. And she had not put the ring back on his finger herself, giving it instead to Antonio to give. There was something in that, but he had no idea what. He finally gave up trying to reason out his wife's enigmatic actions, kissed her unobtrusively on the forehead and left their chambers.

The grand house was empty save for the odd servant scurrying about here and there. He regarded these new surroundings with a sense of victory. Everything here was his; he was at the top of the world, and he could pay off all his debts and still have plenty of money left over. He couldn't wait until Antonio woke up so that he could speak to his beloved and generous friend. He could now repay everything he owed him, in money that is. But not in love. He could never repay all the kindness owed to Antonio.

Bassanio made his way to the main entry, which he fully expected to find completely empty. Instead he found Antonio, back to him, tying up his cape. He felt the familiar leap in his stomach at the sight of his dear friend.

"You're awake!" The older man started as Basanio's voice cut through the luxuriant stillness of the afternoon. "I would have thought that you would be asleep! But here you are, awake and dressed and –"

"Packed." Antonio finished.

"You're leaving?

"I must."

"Already? But why?

"I can't stay here and impose myself upon you and your lady wife. You have much to do. You have a lady and an estate to become acquainted with. I would only get in the way. It would only be a few days before you would start wishing me away – "

"I would never –"

" – and I would much rather part on good terms, while you wish me to stay, than on bad, when you have long wished me to leave."

"I could never wish you away! Think not about me and what I _might_ desire. Stay awhile."

"If I do not think of you, then I must think of my own wellbeing. And in doing so, I arrive at the very same conclusion: I must leave you. Farewell." Antonio picked up his suitcase nodded politely and turned to leave.

"Your own well being?" Bassanio said, running to block his friend's path, "Do you mean to insult our hospitality?"

Antonio chuckled and touched the younger man's chin affectionately, "Oh, my dear Bassanio," he drew his hand away quickly, "No, not mine." He whispered, more to himself, than to Bassanio, "But dear nonetheless." He spoke up, "I do _not_ mean to insult your hospitality, merely to acknowledge my own weakness. Goodbye dear friend. I promise to visit again before the year is out."

"The year!?"

"Or… early next year."

"Next –" Bassanio spluttered, "How can you go so long without visiting? The year is barely halfway through! What business could possibly be so important that it must steal you away from me so quickly, and keep you another half a year? No. There is no business in the world that could keep you for so long, not now that your ships are all safe and you are richer than you have ever been before. I will surely starve for want of you if you are gone such a block of time. Therefore, forebear awhile. If only so that I will have your company for even a few days more, so that I (in the knowledge that you must leave soon) may have my fill of you and not famish in the months to come."

Antonio laughed, warmed by his friend's words, "See? This is why I had hoped to leave without saying goodbye; your arguments are far too sound; they make my determination seem completely insane! But you do not know what you say, and I am determined. Therefore goodbye. And I promise to be back for twelfth night, if you'd like."

Bassanio said nothing and scowled, knowing he had lost. Antonio smiled and gave his friend a parting kiss, "Goodbye, sweet Bassanio."

Antonio was already halfway out the door when something else occurred to Bassanio, "Antonio! How will I repay you then if you're leaving so soon? Are you willing to wait half a year for your three thousand ducats? Or do I risk sending the money by boat?"

"Neither!" Antonio called back, "I am now richer than I've ever been and can afford more extravagant gifts to those I love. Therefore, consider those three thousand ducats a wedding gift!" Antonio didn't allow a single word of protest or, in fact, a single word of any kind before disappearing out the door. Bassanio was left standing there like an idiot. Antonio's gift hung in the air. I was extravagant indeed, but there was more to it. And Bassanio couldn't understand what it was. All he knew was the strange hollow feeling in his stomach at the knowledge that he would not see Antonio for another half a year.

As Antonio climbed into the boat he gripped the side to keep from stumbling and falling. It had been difficult to maintain his air of coolness during that interview. He had hoped that his dear friend's happiness would inform his own but as he had watched Bassanio follow his lawful wife into their bedroom, he knew that he could never be happy seeing their marital bliss.

"I know what I must do." He said, his hand unconsciously resting over his heart. The same heart he would have gladly given up for Bassanio's sake, the same heart that, in some ways, he already had. "Goodbye my love, I promise that you'll not see me again."

I don't expect many people to read this as Mechant has an incredibly small fandom. But if you do, please let me know that you're out there. If you liked it, let me know why. If you disliked it, let me know why so that I might improve the coming bits; constructive criticism is always welcome. 


	2. The Troubling Thought

Alright! Chapter two! And to my 3 reviewers: way to represent. ------------------------- 

"Oh no!" Nerrissa woke with a start and had to bite back a swear as she saw the height of the sun. She was very, very late. Gratiano stirred and grumbled as she leapt from their bed.

"No, love, don't wake up." Nerrissa whispered scurrying about the room to picking up her clothing.

He chuckled, "too late, you've woken me up and now must pay the consequences" he announced gravely. She paused to look at him quizzically, and he took her momentary pause to his full advantage and pulled her back into their bed.

"Gratiano!"

"Mm?"

"I don't have time for this!"

"There's always time for this," he pulled her closer, almost aggressively, before purring in her ear, "my love."

She pushed him away, trying to scold, but smiling all the while, "I have _duties_ to perform, Gratiano."

Gratiano stopped his methodical and single-minded attentions to her neck and looked her in the eyes. "Yes. Of course" He said, letting go of her. "Your duties."

She smiled and disentangled herself from her husband's arms, missing entirely the wry grin creeping across his face, "your duties as a wife." He lunged and caught her around the waist and pulled her back down, kissing the back of her neck.

"No, you fool!" She squirmed like a fussy infant, and cried out in protest through her smiles, "My. Duties. As. A. _Maid._"

He stopped his games again, "A maid?"

"Yes. Maid."

"But you are not a maid."

"What drivel are you saying?"

"You are a married woman, and no maid. I should know. Unless you somehow left my bad last night, and with some strange enchantment tricked my eyes. You are no maid," she and got up from the bed once and for all scowled at him. "You're not! For this is true: No maid can know the thing that you now do. So if not a maid, then no duties should befall you as they would befall a maid"

"What nonsense you speak!" She laughed, tying up the last tie of her dress, "I'll hear no more! My mistress needs me now, more than you do. Farewell my love. I'll be back. I swear" She leaned over the bed and gave her husband a lingering kiss, breaking it off before either of them became too passionate, and scurried away leaving a very frustrated Gratiano behind.

"Mistress! I am so sorry. I didn't mean to sleep in. I don't know what's wrong with me. I hardly intended to sleep at all but… Mistress?"

Portia was out of bed already, in her dressing gown, and staring out of the window. She did not show any sign that she had heard any of Nerrissa's words. "Mistress…" Nerrissa hesitated, "Portia?"

In surprise, Portia turned around, and though her face was sad, she smiled, "Nerrissa, You've called me by my name –"

"I apologize. It was improper of me. I –"

" – Like when we were children." Portia finished. The smile shone on her face for another moment, then some troubling thought wiped it away. She frowned again and returned her gaze to the window.

"Mistress? …Portia."

"Yes." The Lady replied, not changing her gaze at all.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

This time Portia laughed, "'my dear,' also like when we were children."

"Yes."

There was a long pause as though Portia was deciding whether to answer her maid and best friend's question, or ignore it. "Bassanio…" she began.

Nerrissa frowned. She was not surprised that this melancholy had something to do with that handsome young man, her lady's new husband.

"He… seems to admire me greatly."

"Yes," Nerrissa smiled with relief, "Yes he does seem to."

Portia frowned, "But he doesn't, really."

Nerrissa gasped, "My lady, you can't possibly think that!"

Portia cried out in frustration "Don't tell me what I can and can't think!" she snapped, "I will not be told what to think. I'm tired of that."

"My lady." Nerrissa whispered, "I'm very sorry. I only meant –"

"I know what you meant." Portia said gently, "Come here, love, come sit next to me by the window."

Nerrissa did what she was told, and when she sat by the window Portia smiled at her.

"When you sit here, we may speak as friends, not as maid and mistress."

Nerrissa nodded.

"Nerrissa, you are the dearest and most constant friend I have ever known, therefore I must implore you to be perfectly honest with me: surely you have noticed what I have these past few weeks? Oh! What eventful weeks they have been! But surely you noticed what I did about my husband?"

Nerrissa hesitated; she thought she knew what her mistress spoke of, but did not want to acknowledge the observation. "I –"

"You must tell me!"

"Regarding his friend?"

Portia sighed with relief, "So you saw that as well. But that's only half of it."

"Only – " Nerrissa breathed.

"I mean about Bassanio."

"I didn't notice anything –"

"Nerrissa." Portia clasped her friend's hands, "When I first laid eyes upon Bassanio I felt that some magical spell had obscured my vision of everything else. There was nothing but him. And I felt that if I could only gain his love, and he would choose the right chest I would want for nothing else on this earth. I would never worry about another trifle because I would have the man of my dreams and be safe in the knowledge that I would never have to marry and share a bed with any of those horrid suitors; I would have Bassanio"

Nerrissa smiled and nodded reassuringly, "It was love at first sight!"

"No." Portia frowned. "I thought it was love, but I was a fool. It was merely relief. Relief that someone not utterly repulsive had finally come to court me."

"But my lord Bassanio adores you! Surely you've seen that."

"I have. I did. And in those first moments together I thought, I wanted to believe, that he had fallen in love with me, and it was very easy to do so. Particularly since he believed it so sincerely too."

"But…?"

Portia smiled tenderly and tucked a stray hair from Nerrissa's face. "Yes, 'but.' There always seems to be one of those. Even in the best fairy stories." She looked away from her friend again, "_But_, I realized when he received the letter from his 'friend,' that the depth of love he felt for this… other man went far beyond the normal realms of friendly love, and did far transcend the love he _seemed_ to feel for me. I let him go after we had wed, no time even to consummate our bond, but I had to be sure that my suspicions were correct, or better yet that they were wholly off the mark." Portia didn't speak further.

"Mis – Portia, why are you telling me this?

Portia stood and swiftly swept away from the window, her elegant dressing gown sweeping after her. "Because," she replied briskly, "If I don't tell someone, I shall surely go mad! It is one of the many curses of our sex that we must pour our hearts and minds open or risk losing them both." She moved to her dresser and chose a simple and elegant necklace to wear for the day, "So I dressed as a man," She watched the rubies glisten in the afternoon light, "Only to test my new husband. And you know as well as I what I did find. There was the friend, and such passionate words of love! Confessions that should be saved for the bedroom, confessed unblushingly in open court."

Nerrissa took the ruby necklace and fastened it about Portia's slender neck. She then put a gentle hand on Portia's back indicating that she should sit down.

"Well," Nerrissa reasoned, running a brush through Portia's wavy hair, "he was about to die. And so he –"

Portia let out a shout of bitter laughter, "And so he may never have had another chance."

"Exactly"

Portia smirked, "He must be terrified to find himself still alive with his proclamations hanging in the air."

"And what of your husband?"

"Oh. I don't think he even understands the import of the words heard that day. Or even worse, the meaning of the words he said himself. But now I know that he would give me up in favor of the love of his dear friend"

"But one can hardly take such stock in proclamations made in the face of death"

"True. And nor would I had he not given up the ring. Come to find out because his _friend_ bid he do so. Not a thought to the implications of such and action. Not a thought to what I said regarding the ring and its being my vantage to exclaim on him. Not a thought to the love of his wife, so long as he had the love of his 'friend.'"

"Will you, then?"

"Will I what?"

"Exclaim him."

"How can I? If I do that, I shall have to marry again, and undergo the whole ordeal of the chests again or I am foresworn. And who, then? Nay. I'll not take that chance. Better to be in the bed of a kind, handsome man who loves me not than in the arms of some monster I have not the imagination to dream of. I am Bassanio's, completely in his power. All of my property is his, and I cannot control it at all. I made that vow, and I'll not go back on my word. And never mind the ring. Never mind. He'll keep it now that… Antonio has bid him do so."

"What will you do then?"

Portia looked at her friend through a sly sideways glance. "I have the smallest inklings of a plan taking form in my mind. But I'll not put it into action until my _dear_ Lord Bassanio takes the first step."

--------------------------- Portia's definitely one of the cleverest of Shakespeare's many clever Heroines. And Nerrissa and Gratiano are great fun to write because (though Gratiano does get a bit... frustrated) they're about the only functional couple in the bunch except for maybe... nope. No they're definitely the only functional couple. Next chapter: Lancelot! yay! 


	3. The Cruciform Clasp

Yay! Lancelot! --------------------------------- 

Lancelot chose not to wake up for as long as he could possibly put it off. The household was beginning to stir, and voices could be heard. Of course he was sleeping in the servant's quarters, and it would only be a matter of time before people would be stepping over, around and possibly on him. It had been morning already when he went to sleep, but now that the people around him were awake and moving as well, he had a hard time feeling tired, as much as he wanted to. When he had been working for the Jew, he was used to getting no more than a few hours' sleep each night so now, even when he wanted to feel luxuriant and sleep in, he found that his body simply would not let him.

Jessica never slept in either. Back in the home of the Jew, Jessica always awoke far earlier than anyone else in the house. He wondered for a moment whether she was awake right now. Or if she was still in bed and asleep, tousled by the night of tossing and turning, a wisp of dark curly hair gently grazing her cheek, entirely unaware of what an honor it was to touch that cheek.

He pictured her waking up, brushing the tickling hair off of her cheek, stretching her arms and legs, arching her back, taking in the first few deep breaths of the day. He smiled at the thought of such beauty and grace, like that of a dancer. She would still have her eyes closed as though she, like he, was trying to decide whether to accept and begin the day, or reject it entirely and stay in the comfort of her bed. Lancelot pictured her turning over in the bed. Smiling as another pair of arms takes her into their embrace, Lancelot frowned. The arms of her husband, Lorenzo. He scowled and sat up in his cot. Of course she had fallen in love with Lorenzo, he was dashing, handsome, eloquent, romantic … and Lancelot hated him.

She had never given Lancelot a chance. No. He had never given himself a chance. He had always been too intimidated by her. The playfulness in her dark eyes had always promised such joy to whatever man could win her; but the sharpness in those same glances promised searing fiery rejection. He had always been too afraid of the pain of the fire to venture and try to win that promised joy. And now she was married and out of his reach forever.

Though he really only had himself to blame that they had met. He should have just said no.

But her smile had been so disarming that evening.

"Please, Lancelot!" Jessica whispered urgently

"No, no, and again, no!" Lancelot replied stubbornly and just as quietly.

"Lancelot!" Shylock called from the other room. Lancelot turned to leave but Jessica grabbed his arm.

"No one will recognize me. I swear."

"It's too dangerous."

"I want to see where you go every Sunday!"

"That's not -" Lancelot turned to face her and took her hands into his, "you're a Jewess, Jessica." He said, thinking of all the horrible things that could happen were she discovered. Jessica raised an eyebrow and Lancelot suddenly realized how very serious he sounded. He shrugged, "You'll probably burst into flames the moment you cross the threshold of the church."

"Lancelot!" she cried, angrily whipping her hands from his.

"You never know," he continued to goad, "The world is a remarkable place. Stranger things have been known to happen"

"I'll not listen to you anymore." She turned away from him and stalked from the room

"Jessica!" he called after her, she didn't stop walking so he ran to cut her off, "Come now, Jessica." He said soothingly. She crossed her arms. "Really, it's not all that you think it is. In all honesty, I usually fall asleep during the. Ser…vice" Lancelot was horrified to see tears glistening in her eyes, "No. No, really. Don't… cry." He wanted to say something poetic about saving that sweet water to put out the fire in his soul, but even in his head it sounded stupid, and he had not the words to make it more charming.

"You don't appreciate what you have." She finally said quietly.

"_Lancelot!_" Neither of them spared a glance towards were the old man's voice was coming from.

"I've never left this place, Lancelot. And I can't stand to be stuck here one more moment. If I could have one breath of air outside this wretched geto I would be able to carry that breath with me for weeks to come." She smiled wistfully, and Lancelot could feel his resolve beginning to melt. "Who knows how long a whole day could last me. A year?"

Lancelot looked at her and knew that it was over. His resolve was now a shapeless wet lump, and no barrier at all. He would give up anything for her. Everything. Everything else that mattered to him was dwarfed in importance next to her: His freedom, his life, his religion. "Of course, Jessica." He finally said, "I'd have to be a complete whoreson to deny you when you make it a matter of life and death."

Jessica laughed, and it was the most beautiful and warming sound he had ever heard. Beautiful because it was hers, warming with the knowledge that he was the one who had caused it. He daringly reached out to touch her cheek and she didn't move away.

"_Lancelot!_ You _foolish_ boy!" They both jumped as Shylock's gravelly voice rumbled through the moment. Lancelot looked at Jessica who gestured that he should go, and turned reluctantly to leave.

Curse that old man.

She was awed by the grandeur of the church. The beauty of the ceremony, the pedantic words of the priests. She kept poking Lancelot to point out particularly exciting details of the service that he had seen thousand-and-some times. Lancelot for his own part, couldn't pay attention to at all for fear that someone would notice that the young woman sitting next to him was, in fact, a Jewess. He shuddered to think of the consequences of bringing her into the church.

After the service was over he ushered her out as quickly as possible and could only breathe again after they were safely out and on their way back to the geto.

They had barely gone a full block when Lancelot realized that his crucifix clasp, the most expensive thing he owned, was missing.

"It must have fallen off!"

"What?" Jessica asked, worried.

He took her by the shoulders, "Jessica, Don't move from this spot. I will return. Very, very soon. Don't. Go. _ Anywhere._"

Jessica nodded, and Lancelot promptly dropped to his knees, retracing his and Jessica's steps from a dog's eye view, completely ignoring the people that were tripping over him, kicking him, and grumbling in annoyance at the unusual spectacle he was making of himself.

"Excuse me! Young man," a youthful stranger said.

Lancelot mumbled something indistinct in response, expecting the person to tell him to get out of the way.

"I have seen you here at this church every Sunday for some months, but –"

"Aye, that would make sense, sir," Lancelot responded distractedly, "As this is where I've been every Sunday. And if you're trying to get me into trouble you can forget it I'll not deny that this is were I've been every Sunday, and there's nothing wrong with that. I've just as much right to attend here as a gentleman like you, _sir_." The stranger opened his mouth to interject but Lancelot predicting (wrongly) his intention spoke over him, "Even three sundays ago I was here. That's right! I have eyewitnesses. So I couldn't have had anything to do with the–" Lancelot looked up, "And who might you be, and why do you ask?"

The young man laughed good-naturedly, and for some reason Lancelot hated him for it, and returned to the far more pressing task at hand, "I'm not trying to get you into trouble, friend." The young man said

Friend?

"You've not done anything wrong – that I know of at least. And if you had, I would not be the one to turn you in! No. No, I merely wish to inquire about –"

"Found it!" he held the crucifix up in victory.

"- The girl you are with today."

Lancelot looked up sharply, "what about her?"

"Well, as I said before, I've seen you here on Sundays, but I've not seen her. Who is she? Your new young bride?"

Lancelot couldn't help but laugh like an idiot at the strager's words, the stranger looked Lancelot in the eye and tried again, "A country sister then?" Lancelot's smile vanished.

"No! She's _not_ my sister." Lancelot was starting to understand why this young man was inquiring, and it didn't make him like him any more. He could see that Jessica was watching them with some interest from across the street where he left her "she's a Jewess," he added in a whisper, no longer caring about the consequences, as long as it would scare this stranger away.

The young man's face fell. "A Jewess?" a look of intense sadness crossed his face. Lancelot noticed with annoyance that this look of heartbreak was just as becoming on the young man's face as his look of joviality had been. "What is her name?" The he asked wistfully, the look of despair still written across his face.

Lancelot chewed the inside of his cheek. He opened his mouth, fully intent to give the wrong name, but just then the youth looked at him and smiled. It was a smile full of trust and hope and yearning, and Lancelot suddenly felt like a complete whoreson. Who was he to stop the course of… love?

He looked down at the ground, "Jessica." He mumbled and as soon as he said the word he felt his own heart break.

"Who was that young man?" Jessica asked, "What did he ask you?" God. It was like she knew.

"Nothing." Lancelot said, even though he knew that it was inevitable

The next week she insisted on coming to church with him again, but this time he knew she didn't want to admire the architecture or the lovely service.

Lorenzo stopped him after the service again, this time thrusting a letter into his hand to give to Jessica. Lancelot crumpled the letter just as Jessica walked towards him. He tried to ignore the way Jessica met the stranger's gaze as he walked away, and the blush that arose in her cheek.

"What did he say?" she asked eying the piece of paper crumpled in Lancelot's hand, "what did he give you?"

"Nothing," Lancelot lied, but she gave him a look so severe that he knew it was no good. He looked at the ground and kicked a stray pebble, "I'm just trying to look after you."

Jessica laughed and patted his cheek, "Just like a sweet brother"

Lancelot swallowed as a violent jolt of pain washed over him. "He told me to give you this." He said quietly

Jessica took the letter hungrily from Lancelot's outstretched hand not even noticing the way Lancelot was aggressively biting his lip. At that moment he knew that Jessica would never love him in return.

----------------------------------------I kinda wanna hug him. :) 


	4. The Persistant Doubt

New and freaking improved!!! Yeah! ------------------

-----------------------Jessica never slept in. Back in her father's home, she had always woken far earlier than anyone else in the house. But now she didn't have to wake early at all and she had intended to stay in her bed for as long as humanly possible. Unfortunately, her physical clock refused to listen to her and woke her up long before necessary. Jessica brushed the tickling tousled strands of hair from her face; she stretched her arms and arched her back, taking the first deep breaths of the morning, trying to decide whether to accept and begin the day or reject it entirely and stay in the comfort of her bed. Her father would never have allowed her sleep in as late as se already had. She laughed aloud at the novelty of her rebellion but instantly regretted making such a jarringly unnatural sound. She sat up, insides in a knot of sudden, unbidden guilt. She heard her stolen husband move next to her in bed.

"Why do you stir, my love?" He mumbled sleepily, "it is early yet."

"It's not." She replied softly. "The sun is already halfway across the sky."

"Well then, if that be so, I say that there is no point in getting out of bed, if night will fall so soon and only beckon us back"

Jessica tried to laugh at her husbands attempt at wit, but found she could not, a cruel nagging thought plagued her. "Lorenzo. Do you think me wicked?"

Lorenzo sat up and touched Jessica's cheek in gentle concern, "my love, what makes you ask such a thing?" Jessica did not respond and Lorenzo took her face into his hands and looked straight into her eyes, "Jessica, you are a pure and beautiful human being, and that is why I loved you even through the evil shroud of your ancestry. like spotting a diamond in the mud. Unpolished and covered in grime and sin. But now you are a Christian, and like a diamond cleaned and cut and polished, and sparkling for all the world to see: you are without sin and heaven will surely welcome you and celebrate when you arrive."

Jessica felt her stomach drop even more and shook her head "I am no Christian."

Lorenzo recoiled. "Jessica!"

"For is not a most important commandment "Thou shalt honor thy parents I know this is the same in Christianity and important as well. But I have betrayed my father terribly. How then can I be considered a proper Christian when my very conversion to Christianity was founded in such an unchristian deed as-"

"Jessica, your father was a cruel and wicked man. Breaking from him could not be seen as some unchristian deed. If anything it is like casting away the limb or eye that sins so that the whole may not be damned to Hell."

"No! Lorenzo, do not say such cruel words of a man you did not know! He needed me. He was frail. And I the cruel and selfish child have abandoned him to rot away. Without me he is surely damned."

"I – I'm sorry."

"Please, don't apologize, my love. Let us go down, the rest of the party surely awaits our arrival."

-----------------------

Jessica could tell that something was wrong even before the letter arrived. They all met in the front room to dine and discuss plans for the future now that everyone had received their personal fairy tale endings. Portia and Bassanio, the Master and Mistress of the house, sat at opposite ends of the table. Their guests seated next to their respective spouses down the long table.

"Our table seems short of one." Portia said with a smile, "Where is dear Antonio?"

Bassanio answered his wife's question, but not her smile. "Gone." He said. "Left long before any of us were awake. He left the three thousand Ducats as a wedding gift." And he sank into an uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

Jessica caught a significant glance between Portia and Nerrissa, which triggered Gratiano to put a possessive and protective hand on Nerrissa's.

"How very uncharitable of him!" Gratiano cried. Bassanio didn't even flinch at the jibe, So Gratiano elaborated, "To leave money in his stead. As though cold coins could provide the same enjoyment as his company! As though we could buy another Antonio! Ha." No one laughed; Gratiano's merriment seemed false and forced.

"did he say where he was going, love?" asked Portia pleasantly, a small forced smile on her lips. Bassanio only shook his head, sadness clearly readable in his expression. "Well then," the smile was definitely more visibly forced now, "We must invite him over again… sometime." Again, Bassanio said nothing.

Lancelot entered the room. He looked around at the party for a moment and no one but Jessica noticed he was there. He seemed to be deciding whether or not it was safe to make a quick getaway. No one seemed to notice him, but then his sweeping eyes met Jessica's. She smiled kindly at her friend, hoping to make him feel invited. He did not return her smile but quietly sat as unobtrusively as possible in a corner of the hall now that he could no longer make an unnoticed escape.

The food was brought out.

"Oh excellent!" Cried Gratiano, cutting through the silence, "I'm starving!"

Nerrissa cleared her throat gently at her husband's words, "It is a very lovely presentation." She said quietly. Portia nodded her assent, the little forced smile still present on her lips.

"Shall we have a prayer before we eat?" Lorenzo suggested. Jessica swallowed as Portia nodded.

"Would you like to lead the prayer, my Lord?" she asked Bassnio. Bassanio seemed to come out of his reverie and looked first at his wife, then at the rest of the occupants of the table, all of whom were looking at him expectantly. He bowed his head and everyone followed suit.

Jessica looked around the table at everyone's bowed heads, and only bowed hers when Bassanio began to speak, "We thank the Lord for all the gifts He has given us, and pray that for them He shall make us truly thankful, we thank the Lord for the gift of His only son whom we love, and we pray that our trespasses may be forgiven We thank thee for this food, may the lord make us truly thankful."

"Amen."

Everyone began to eat in silence The quiet click–scrape of silverware and teeth and food were the only sounds as everyone fed their appetites. Though Bassanio seemed to not have one.

"This is quite delicious." Lorenzo said to no one in particular.

"Yes"

"It is."

"Quite." Came the general consensus of everyone else at the table. Bassanio said nothing because he still hadn't so much as looked at his food. Portia shot him calculating look, which he seemed not to notice.

Jessica dared another glance at Lancelot, he looked away just as she turned her gaze towards him, and his manner was just as deflated as before. For a moment she found herself wishing she could talk to him and find what troubled him the way she used to I the house of her father. But she had left behind that friendship (as well as everything else to do with her life) back in the geto of Venice when she had married.

"I find this household amazing, Mistress," said Lorenzo, "It truly is a beautiful haven away from the rest of the world. I believe I speak on behalf of Jessica" Jessica smiled, "as well myself when I thank you kindly for allowing us to stay here."

"How long will you be with us, dear friends?" Portia asked politely. "Before you answer you should know that our home is open to you for as long as you need, I shall not complain should you choose to stay a full fortnight, or longer"

"Oh, surely we will not burden you with our presence for so long! Another two nights should be more than enough to get our affairs in order."

Portia smiled politely, "I shall certainly miss you both when you have gone home. And so will…" she looked at Bassanio and trailed off, the end of the sentence never caming to life. "I hope you both shall visit soon again, for I feel greatly honored to have met you."

"Not half so honored as I," Jessica said earnestly, "the whole world of women has not your equal."

Portia opened her mouth in surprise before again smiling politely, closer this time to a genuine smile, but with a touch of sadness.

Jesscia bit her lip, the afternoon was just becoming more and more worrisome Antonio was gone. Bassanio was quiet and thoughtful. Lancelot dispirited and sad, Portia and Nerrissa subdued. It was as though the whole universe was just slightly askew. Only Lorenzo seemed unaffected by the behavior of his friends, and even that was strange. He usually could tell how those around him were feeling. And it wasn't like him to allow this sort of sadness to go unexplained.

But today he didn't seem to notice at all. Or perhaps he too was distracted. This thought caused a lurch in Jessica's stomach. If he was worried about something, she had surely caused his concern with her outburst this morning.

"Whatever is the matter, my love?" She finally whispered. Lorenzo looked surprised.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to discern."

Suddenly Bassanio slammed his hand down on the table and everyone's attention was suddenly directed at him. Bassanio hadn't said a word or moved a muscle since the prayer and he hadn't smiled all morning, but now here he was, standing and grinning at Portia.

"I know what we must do!" He cried.

Portia blinked. "well then, go on."

"I felt such guilt when Antonio left his gift. Though I knew three thousand Ducats to be a paltry sum for him now. I couldn't understand the guilt I felt right then but now understand why."

Portia smiled benignly. "Antonio?" She repeated, "and this will help assuage your guilt? Whatever 'must we do' to put to rest these… concerns of your deserving?"

He smiled wider, "Portia, we must be wed –"

Portia opened her mouth to interject but Bassanio motioned to stop her. He left his spot and came to kneel by her side, taking her hands in his. Everyone looked on in astonishment at the tender scene.

"We must be wed _properly_ this time" He finished.

A smile rose on Portia's face. A genuine smile. "My love –"

"I know what you will say but let me come to my point. 'Tis true that we are wed in the eyes of law and church, but what of the eyes of friends and family? We were wed in a rush of minimum ceremony, and no celebration. Our union deserves more. And This time we shall have more! This time all our friends and love ones shall attend to see us off on our lifelong journey as a pair.

"I had felt strange accepting a gift from a friend whom had been unable to even attend the ceremony. Particularly such a loved friend. This time Antonio will be there to wish us luck on our voyage of marriage." Portia's smile faded, but Bassanio seemed not to notice, "Does this please you, my lady?"

"Yes. Of course I am pleased."

"Then may Nerrissa and I be married again as well?" Gratiano interjected, putting a possessive arm about his little wife's waist, "We had as much time as you did to celebrate last time. Besides, my lady," he bowed his head respectfully to Portia who had become very pale, "It's the least you could do after stealing my wife from me so early every morning."

"What?" Portia seemed to be coming out of a daze

"Well, it is to be every morning, is it not? Every morning that she must arise early to attend to your needs?" Portia smiled warily and Gratiano laughed, but Nerrissa was far from amused. "Oh come now, my love! You need not look so sour! You know it to be true!"

"I have not complained, and so, though I thank you for your thoughtfulness, you have little reason to take up my part." She replied coldly.

"I complain not on your behalf, but on my own."

"You should know then, my love, that it is not your place to complain of anything regarding my duties as a maid"

"And what of your duties as my wife?"

"You must complain to me if ever I slack them. My mistress has naught to do with them."

"Then perhaps I will demand we quit this place, to see where your loyalties lie stronger, with your mistress, or your master and husband."

"What is a woman to do when faced with such a decision?" Nerrissa exclaimed, "She is told by society, that her choice must be her husband, but duty and logic remind that she bear in mind the prior obligation."

"You would choose her over your husband?"

"Please, friends." Lorenzo said soothingly, "is this really appropriate breakfast conversation?"

"Yes." Nerrissa said, completely ignoring Lorenzo's pleas for peace, "I would. I have a duty, Gratiano. The family I come from has not the wealth of yours, this is true, but do not think me a poor destitute child whom you enwrapped in you embrace and rescued from the cold. I was warm and by the hearth long before I know your name."

"My dear lady," Bassanio laughed with unmeaning condescension, "You really ought to listen to your husband. He's been out in the world and knows better than you –"

"What's best for her?" Portia interjected, "Where is the logic in that statement, my _love_? Whose judgment to judge her could prove better than her own?"  
"My love –" Bassanio began

"Pray, do not say 'my love' It is poison to hear you speak those words"

Bassanio opened his mouth to respond but Nerrissa's voice sounded before he could.

"Gratiano," she cried, "how dare you ask me choose between –"

"Nerrissa, my love –" Gratiano pleaded but Nerrissa had turned her back on him.

"Why poison!?" Bassanio cried. Portia did not respond.

Jessica was shocked. Here was true anger and frustration directed at their husbands. Not, as had been the case the night before, mere playacting.

Bassanio tried again. "Why poison?" he asked quietly.

Portia looked at him and in the vacuum of tense silence that suddenly filled the hall Jessica could see her hardness beginning to unwillingly melt. But just as Portia had regained her composure another person entered the room.

"My Lord?"

Bassanio looked up from where he had been kneeling at Portia's side "What is it…?"

"Stephano" Portia supplied quietly

"­­­­­Stephano?"

"My lord, a letter for one of your guests."

"I'll take it" Stephano held out the letter and Bassanio took it.

"You may go." Portia said to the servant. He made a move to leave but stopped, remembering to whom his services now belonged. Bassanio nodded to dismiss the young servant, and he turned to leave.

Bassanio looked back down at the letter and then, much to Jessica's surprise, right at her. "It's for Jessica," He said quietly.

Her stomach sank and everyone in the hall looked at her. All prior arguments seemed forgot and only curiosity took hold of the room as Bassanio walked the letter right up to Jessica. "Thank you." She said softly.

Only a look was enough to tell her that it was from Tubal. She should have been annoyed to receive such a reminder of the past she had struggled so hard to leave behind, but after this morning's feeling of foreboding, the identity of the letter's writer could only feed her fears. She could feel every eye in the room watching her; the curiosity almost tangible as she rose from the table and opened the letter in a corner of the hall.

'Jessica,' was the first word she read. So it really was for her, she gulped down her feeling of foreboding and read on, 'Jessica, you must come at once –'

She gasped and dropped the letter, suddenly wishing that she had not left the table and her chair so far away. Lorenzo and Lancelot both rose, but it was Lorenzo who first made it to her side, and Lorenzo against whom she leaned.

"Jessica, _Jessica."_ He prompted urgently as she buried her face feverishly into his chest.

"No."

"What is it? What did the letter say?"

Tears rolled silently down her face as she stared dazedly into the distance, "This is my fault." She whispered, "How could I…"

"What _is _it?

"I've killed him."

"What!?"

"My father… he's dying."


	5. The Merchant Departs

A new chapter! Freakin' Finally! Yeah! I'm happy. -----------

------------- "I… suppose you'll want to go to him them?" Lorenzo said awkwardly as he watched his wife pack her bags.

"You suppose correctly." Jessica replied brokenly, not even looking up from her task.

"Ah."

"Yes."

"I – I really don't think you should –"

"He's my father, Lorenzo! Oh, I knew you wouldn't want me to go after what you said this morning, how disappointing that my suspicions should prove true with this, your current response. He's still my father. He's a Christian now, but even if he was not I'd still go to him on his deathbed. Even if he never wants to see me again (as he probably doesn't), I'm still going to go to him."

Lorenzo opened his mouth to speak, but Jessica cut him off unable to bear what she knew he was going to say, "Oh, I knew you didn't mean it when you said you loved me, if you did you'd - He is my father, and no matter what you say –"

"Jessica! Jessica." Lorenzo took her small hands in his, and wiped the tears from her eyes, "Try not to fly before you understand how to walk! You misunderstand my words too much to say that I don't love you. Let me finish: I don't think you should go _alone_. I'm your husband now, and wherever you go, I'll go too. Jessica, no matter what _you _say, I _do_ love you. I only said what I said this morning to comfort you. I only want you to be happy."

Jessica looked up into Lorenzo's eyes, "I don't want to believe I killed him."

"You didn't kill anyone. It's just his time to go. It's what God wants."

"How can it be? His soul isn't ready to –"

"Let God be the judge of that." He closed her suitcase for her and led her to the door, "It will all work out the way God means it to. We will survive this trial, Jessica, just the two of us." Jessica smiled up at her love as he opened the door. There on the other side stood Lancelot, fist raised as though about to knock. The three stood looking at each other, Lancelot slowly flushing.

"I only came by to ask – I imagined that you, lovely friend, would be planning to see your father."

Jessica bit her lip, "Yes." She said, "We leave as soon as possible."

Lancelot nodded in complete and serious enthusiasm, "yes, yes, that's great. Really. Excellent.

… I want to go with you."

--------------

"I need to get out of here."

"Here… this house? This… city?"

"Yes, yes! All of it! This country! This universe if necessary!"

"Where will you go?"

"A ship of mine leaves for London-"

"_London_? You can't go to London!"

Antonio stopped his feverish packing to look at his friend, "And why not? What's wrong with London?"

"Well… for one thing? London is the arsehole of the world." Solario said it with such complete seriousness that Antonio could only roll his eyes and continue to pack; such an accusation could hardly be taken seriously. "the English are the Mad Dogs of the world!" Antonio chuckled, which only seved to make Solerio more desperate, "No!" He said fervently, "it's true! Stop- st- _stop_ packing for one moment and _listen_ to me!" Antonio stopped packing and stared at Solerio, arms folded, clearly indicating that one moment was all he would get. "London is a disgusting port town, sewage reeking through the streets; London is filled with plague ridden dogs, and flea infested rats… dying alley cats that fight each other to the death just for the winner's honor of filling his starved belly with the flesh of the loser, disgusting! … and the animals are rather disgusting as well. Antonio, listen to me: London is a nasty, foul place, a place that gentlemen – _true_ gentlemen – like you cannot hope to survive in and"

"I've been to London before"

"Years ago! Before you came into wealth! Everything will be different now! All this culture and life you see here in Venice, has completely passed England by. When ships come in they receive the cargo and the rats, and none of the culture."

"Solerio…"

"Do you even speak English?"

Antonio swallowed, "well, I have been schooled in all the major languages necessary in –"

"Antonio, this is a terrible plan. You must reconsider."

Anotonio sighed and looked at his half packed belongings, if only to look away from the concern in Solario's eyes. "I'm ready to go anywhere." He said softly, Solario made a sound of disbelief. "Yes, Solario! The Americas! Australia! Anywhere! London seems as good a place as any. It will do. One of my ships leaves for London tonight,"

"_Tonight?_"

" – and I intend to be on it."

"You are completely mad, my friend. Completely out of your head."

Antonio laughed aloud, startling the other man, "I am Solario. That is why I needs must quit this place."

Solerio looked confused. And though confusion was a look that he often adopted, Antonio chose in this case to elaborate. "This city has too many memories for me. Its harbor harbors so many ill feelings. I walk along the river, or sit safely in a barge and I hear the water calling jealously to me, mocking me. Too many people know my face here. Too many know my wealth. But too few know my secrets. I know it must stay that way, but this world drives me mad! This pious goodly, Godly, awful mask welds to my face. I am afraid that if I try to take it off my skin will rip away with it, leaving me the option: the mask, or no face at all. I don't want it to come to that. I don't want to lose myself. I have to go somewhere else where no one knows my face, so that I may not fear to lose it. Do you understand?"

Solerio said nothing, but his expression conveyed sufficiently the amount of his comprehension.

"No? Good then."


End file.
